Page 43 of Written with You (The Regret Duet 2)
“What’s going on, officer?” I extended a hand his way. “I’m Caven Hunt. A friend of Ms. Banks.”
He shook my hand but looked at Willow. “We don’t have a lot to go on here. We’ve put his description out to the city and all the surrounding counties. I’m going to be real honest with you here. The fact that he didn’t take anything other than your driver’s license is what I find the most worrisome. We can increase patrol through your neighborhood in case this guy decides to pay you a visit, but I’d highly advise that you don’t go home for a few days while we try to figure this out. Do you have somewhere safe that you can go for a few nights?”
I slid my hand under the back of her hair and curled my fingers around her neck. “She can stay with me.”
“Caven, no. You don’t have to do that. I can stay with Beth.”
I gave her neck a squeeze. “You could. But remember what I said about you being surrounded by paramedics and police. I’d feel a lot better if you were under my roof with my security system tonight.”
She bit her bottom lip and looked to Ian.
Ian. Like he was suddenly her keeper and not mine.
He winked and tipped his head toward me. “I don’t think this is the box you think it is.”
What the fucking hell were these boxes they kept talking about? And when had they become winky, she-can-stay-at-my-place friends? What the hell was he even doing at the grocery store with her that day?
I swung a scowl between the two of them, but it was erased when Willow lifted her gaze to mine and asked, “Can we grab some things from my place first?”
It should have been relief that swelled in my chest.
Relief that she wasn’t going to argue.
Relief that I might actually be able to sleep that night without having a nervous breakdown.
And relief that I wasn’t going to have to kidnap her and hold her hostage at my house for a few days.
But fuck me, all I felt was excitement that I’d get to spend more time with her. I hated the reason, but while having her in my house for a few days sounded like torture to one side of my brain, it also felt like a winning lottery ticket to the other.
“Yeah, babe. We’ll swing by your place.”
The cop nodded. “I’ll have a cruiser follow you. Just in case.”
We waited twenty minutes for the police to finish up with the paperwork. Willow alternated between hanging her head and forcing a smile for anyone she caught looking her way.
She was shit for an actress though. She wasn’t going to make it much longer without breaking down. And damn if I didn’t want to get her the hell out of that parking lot so she could have that moment in private.
Well, private with me.
When it was all wrapped up, at least temporarily, Ian offered to drop Willow’s car off at my house and catch a cab back to get his own. She didn’t argue or offer anything more than a resigned, “Thanks, Ian.”
In a true show of maturity, I only contemplated breaking his fingers for a second as he pulled her in for a side hug and whispered something into her ear. She smiled up at him, sad and wholly broken, then gave him one of her signature forearm squeezes that were usually reserved for me. Okay, so I’d lied. I’d contemplated breaking his fingers for two seconds. But I didn’t follow through and that’s all that counts.
The police had bagged her purse as evidence, so when she climbed into the passenger seat of my SUV, she did it with nothing but her phone, a small makeup bag, and an empty expression.
“You okay?” I asked as I pulled out of the parking lot with a police car on my tail.
“I’m gonna need to get back to you on that.”
I grinned. “You need to dry-heave?”
“Ummm…” She dropped her head back against the headrest. “That has yet to be determined. But have no fear—I promise I won’t do it in your car.”
I chuckled, thankful that she at least still had a sense of humor, one that I’d missed greatly over the last month.
“My studio is filled with shit,” she told the windshield.
“What?”
“Yeah. My contractor sucks and sewage backed up into my studio this morning. I had a plumber come out and fix it, but it’s still a mess. And it’s going to smell like shit forever because Hadley was a klepto who couldn’t keep her damn hands off people’s stuff. Now, I have to go to your house and I won’t even have a chance to clean it, which means I’m going to have to tear out the entire mural of unicorns Rosalee helped me make. I don’t believe in ghosts, Caven, but I think there is a very real possibility Hadley has come back from beyond the grave just to screw with me.”
